


A Matter of Great Importance

by ivefoundmygoldfish (melonpanparade)



Series: Sherlock Rare Pair Bingo [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 21:11:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2124825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonpanparade/pseuds/ivefoundmygoldfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft didn't expect any of this, but he isn't about to complain. Or, another one in which Mycroft discovers that Lestrade wears glasses. </p><p>Will I ever stop writing about Lestrade in glasses? Probably not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Great Importance

Before he even considered dabbling in government and politics, Mycroft wanted to become an optometrist. The thought that such a seemingly simple accessory possessed the power to change a person’s world baffled and amazed him at the same time. He didn’t have firsthand experience—for him, glasses made things blurry, took things out of focus. But for others, they were a source of clarity; a life-changing experience.

As he grew older, he found his fascination with glasses extended to his personal interests. On the rare occasion he stopped to contemplate his tastes, coming to the conclusion that he was drawn to the way the angled and logical design brought a sense of symmetry and order to a person. Which is why it came as such a surprise when he found himself inexplicably attracted to DI Gregory Lestrade—Gregory, with his lopsided, cheeky smile; Gregory, with his greying hair messily finger combed towards the right; Gregory, who wasn’t necessarily disorderly, but was certainly unpredictable in every way—and Mycroft couldn’t understand why. And without realising how or when, it had become natural to consider possible answers whenever he found himself in close proximity with Gregory.

“Penny for your thoughts, Mycroft?”

“I apologise, Inspector.”

“How many times have I told you, it’s Greg.”

“Gregory,” Mycroft amended, the corners of his lips quirking upwards.

Greg barked out a laugh. “Or that. How is it that you and Sherlock are the most bloody brilliant people I know, and yet neither of you can get my name right?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued, idly brushing dirt off his coat sleeves as he talked. “Never mind, Gregory sounds more natural coming from you anyway. So, matters of great importance on the brain?”

“Perhaps.” Mycroft allowed a small smile in return, playing along and enjoying the easy rapport. He wasn’t entirely lying; after all, Gregory _was_ a matter of great importance. Just not a matter that concerned international security. Let Gregory think what he wanted—anything to divert him from the truth.

“I don’t suppose you’d have time after this, would you? For a coffee, I mean.” Greg hurried to explain, hands gesturing as he spoke.

Nervous, then, Mycroft noted absently. But why?

“We can celebrate a case solved, and, um, Sherlock’s third consecutive month staying clean!” Greg finished.  

“Three months has certainly passed by quickly,” Mycroft mused, continuing the conversation rather than seeking answers for the question he hadn’t asked.

“Tell me about it. I can’t believe it’s almost been two years since he turned up on my crime scene high as a kite, spouting details about the murderer’s height and weight and insulting my team in the same breath.”

Mycroft hummed his agreement, followed by a brief lapse of silence until he spoke up once more. “Very well, then.”

“Wait, really? Great! Um, let me just finalise things with my sergeant and then I’ll be back. Should only be a minute or two. In the meantime, think of somewhere to go, because I doubt you’d appreciate what the Yard has to offer.” Greg flashed a quick smile at Mycroft—the crooked, boyish one that made Mycroft’s skin tingle—before rushing off.

 

* * *

 

“The Diogenes Club, really? Not that I’m complaining, of course. Always liked the fancy feel of this room,” Greg said, running his hands along the wooden frame of the chair’s backrest. “Chairs are too far apart, though; feel like I have to yell at you like this. I’m going to move this closer, if that’s okay.”

Mycroft nodded. “It was nearby. A place we’re both familiar with. Exceptional coffee, too.” 

“Coffee! And all the while I thought you only served fancy spirits and tea here. I think we need to increase the frequency of our meetings.” Greg flopped into his seat and chuckled, and Mycroft’s heart jumped to his throat. “Any other surprises?”

If anything, Mycroft was the one being surprised. Constantly. Gregory wanting to have coffee with him, Gregory wanting to be in closer proximity for conversation—Mycroft hadn’t expected any of that. He crossed the room and brought back a menu, handing it to Greg before sitting down, taking extra care not to brush their legs together. It was difficult when their chairs were so close together.

“Does that say desserts? I could definitely do with a sugar rush after this hellish afternoon. Hold on a moment.” Greg patted down his coat with both hands, searching for something. “Been putting off getting these for years,” he said, fishing out a small leather pouch from an inner pocket. Mycroft swallowed. One more surprise he hadn’t accounted for, it seemed. “Makes me feel old, you know? As if greying at an early age wasn’t enough.”

“Greying is much more distinguished than thinning,” Mycroft remarked wryly, eyes still trained on the leather pouch.

Greg chuckled. “Sherlock induced stress manifests itself in different ways.”

With bated breath, Mycroft watched silently as Greg pulled out a pair of glasses, confirming his suspicions. He exhaled slowly when Greg put them on and looked straight at him.

“Gregory,” he breathed, talk of coffee and dessert and hair immediately forgotten. “May I?”

Eyes wide, Greg removed them and gently placed it in Mycroft’s waiting hand.

Such a simple accessory, Mycroft marvelled, studying the temples, the frame, the hinges. So light, almost weightless in his hand. And Gregory looked beautiful in them. So, so beautiful. He leant forward, returning them to their original place. He was close enough to hear the gentle puffs of air when Gregory inhaled and exhaled, close enough for their noses to briefly touch, close enough to thread his fingers into the short, soft hairs at the nape of Gregory’s neck, close enough to hesitantly press their mouths together into a kiss.

“Fuck, Mycroft. I’d have agreed to get glasses much earlier,” Greg managed once they pulled apart, breathing heavily, “If I knew you’d react this way.”

“Language, Gregory,” Mycroft admonished, but his eyes were bright with mirth and his cheeks and ears were flushed pink with the newfound knowledge that Gregory was interested in him, had been interested in him for a while.

“I’m sorry!” Greg laughed, impulsively running a hand through his hair. “But I’m old and greying and I thought I’d never have a chance with you.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Mycroft reached out to take off Greg’s glasses, and without breaking eye contact, he set them on the table next to him. Emboldened by Greg’s earlier admission, he murmured, “You’re fine. With or without them.”

“Mmm, I think I might need more convincing than that…” Greg grinned wickedly against Mycroft’s mouth, tongue darting out to lick at Mycroft’s bottom lip.

A warm thrill coursed through Mycroft, and he stifled a sound of delight. He’d never been surprised so many times in one day. He closed his eyes, ready to lose himself to the taste and feel of Gregory against him, and for the first time he felt his world changing completely, all because of a simple pair of glasses.


End file.
